


Aftermath

by BitZombie



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Gen, I'm pretty sure when all is said and done they'll all have PTSD, Lance also has PTSD, Nightmares, Shiro has PTSD, im upset by this, or maybe there is i gave up looking pretty fast, why is there no platonic tag for lance and shiro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-08-07 14:10:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7717774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BitZombie/pseuds/BitZombie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shiro has his own ways of coping, and he's had a while to come to terms with them.<br/>Lance, on the other hand, is still trying to process his own trauma.</p><p>Shiro has some experience with that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aftermath

The training room is dark and empty, Shiro’s footsteps echoing loudly off its metal walls as he makes his way to the centre of the barren floor. It’s always quiet this time of night–everyone fast asleep and resting after a hard day of combat practice–and it provides a certain comfort to him, knowing he can make as much noise as he likes without drawing anyone’s attention. There are no watching eyes worrying as he presses to his limits and then past them, waiting to ask him if he’s alright, if he needs anything. He appreciates the concern, but his problems are his own and he has no right to burden his friends like that. They already have so much to deal with on their own after all.

Lights turn on automatically as he moves, brightening for a moment before dimming when the room’s programming registers the castle’s current night time mode. Shiro takes his time warming up, twisting and stretching in an attempt to loosen tight muscles. It never works, but the habit remains a part of this nightly ritual regardless, a holdover from his self-imposed training regimen as Champion. The minutes drag by as he goes through the motions, but it’s over soon enough, and he drops into a ready crouch.

“Start training: Level One.”

After that, the time blurs together with fists and feet, Shiro throwing his all into the fights and moving through the levels with ease. The sweat drips into his eyes and yet he continues, tearing through the gladiator time after time. The room fades into the background, the strain of his muscles and the sound of metal against metal fading into the background. Shiro lives for these nights, his anger finding an outlet in the violence he tries to hide from his team. 

Its only in the wee hours of the morning that he stops, his training outfit soaked with sweat and the remnants of the last gladiator scattered at his feet before being swallowed up by the floor. He still has hours left before the others will start to wake up, but any more exertion and a stay in a pod is inevitable.

The lights dim and turn off on their own as he walks out of the training area, looking forward to a shower before his next patrol. He knows ostensibly that the team are all safe within their beds, but the sense of relief when he sees them there for himself alleviates a fear he’s never truly rid of.

He’s only a few feet from the doors to the showers when he spots a silhouette at the end of the hall, sitting on the floor with their head between their knees. Immediate concern floods Shiro, and before he realizes it he’s bypassing the showers and continuing on towards the figure.

“… Lance?” Shiro’s voice is quiet, but it still echoes in the empty corridor, and Lance flinches in response, head still between his knees. Gingerly, the older paladin crouches in front of him, speaking softly, “Lance, are you alright?”

Lance still doesn’t respond, and at this distance Shiro can see his shoulders shaking. His sleep shirt is damp and his hair is plastered to his scalp with sweat, and Shiro can tell when a nightmare’s gotten it’s claws into someone.

He’s been in Lance’s position himself more times than he can count.

“Lance. Lance, look at me buddy, you’re safe, I’m right here with you. Look at me, please?” His voice is gentle, trying his best to coax Lance to move, to focus on something besides the inside of his own head. He gives a quiet sigh of relief when the blue paladin twitches at his words.

Slowly, Lance raises head. His eyes are red-rimmed and dull, and despite his best efforts he still looks like he’s seeing through Shiro instead of looking at him. His cheeks are damp and he’s still shivering, despite the grip he has on his housecoat. He looks lost in his own head, and Shiro wants nothing more than to lead him home.

“Lance, hey. Good job,” Shiro gives him a small smile in response to his efforts. He needs to focus Lance’s attention on something concrete, and hestantly he reaches out a hand, asking permission as he moves closer.

“I’m just going to sit next to you, alright? You can say no if you need to.” Lance nods only once, and Shiro shifts himself to lean against the wall next to him, shoulders and thighs touching. The response is immediate, Lance curling in towards Shiro and abandoning his grip on his housecoat to grab a handful of the older paladin’s shirt instead. The sudden movement startles Shiro for a moment, but when his pulse begins to slow he wraps an arm around trembling shoulders. With a gentle hand, he pushes Lance’s head towards his chest, the paladin’s ear resting over his heart.

He doesn’t say anything else, and eventually Lances breathing evens out, the hitching and shaking slowing down and stopping as he listens to Shiro’s heartbeat. Idly dragging his flesh hand through Lance’s hair, he waits and wills himself to stay still as the younger man slowly drifts off to sleep.

Eventually Shiro’s muscles start to stiffen, and he shifts involuntarily, jostling Lance slightly. He doesn’t react at all, and Shiro decides the floor is no longer an acceptable place for Lance to sleep. He takes great care to pick up the paladin as gently as possible, grunting slightly as he does–Lance is heavier than he looks, and it surprises Shiro every time. Not once does Lance’s fist release his shirt, and Shiro carries him back towards his room.

Lance’s room is spotless, not a single thing out of place except the bed. There’s no dust, no crumbs, no clothing on the floor,nothing, and for once Shiro wonders if maybe Lance hasn’t been left with some scars of his own since Sendak attempted to take over the castle. 

He has to pry Lance’s fingers from his shirt one by one, but eventually he’s free. He turns to leave the blue paladin to his rest, glad at least one of them will be getting some much-needed rest. Before he can close the door behind him, Lance speaks up from beneath the pile of blankets he’s already burrowed under.

“Thanks Shiro… for not asking.”

Shiro doesn’t respond at first, his hand frozen on the door as he registers Lance’s words. When he does, he knows Lance has already fallen back to sleep, but he mutters it anyways, just in case.

“You’re not alone, Lance.”

And with that, he shuts the door and starts down the hall to check on the other members of his crew.

**Author's Note:**

> Forgive my probably awful spelling and grammar and sentence structure. This is unbetaed and I just wanted to get it off my chest. You can find more Voltron drabbles and headcanons on my voltron blog @ garrisonsfinest.tumblr.com


End file.
